2025 Italy, Day 47: Chienes

If you would like to see details about our journey, check out our itinerary and our bike route.

If you ever get a chance to coast down the AHR from Cadipietra to Brunico, just do it. And then turn right in Brunico and head on up the EV7 to Chienes. Along the way, you will see a handful of ski resorts up on the sides of the mountains, and a lot of chalets and farms lined up along steep switchbacks on both sides of the valley.

We had the most perfect weather: sunshine, slight breeze, zero clouds, 70 degrees. The trail was filled with people walking and biking. We passed a couple groups of folks in traditional Tyrolean dress, striding purposefully down the path.

At noon, we stopped at a picnic table in a park near our turnoff in Brunico, and snacked from our food bag. In the early afternoon, we arrived at our hotel in Chienes, and stretched out on the bed with our feet up, the doors to our balcony open to the gentle rushing from the river a few hundred feet away.

Chienes is a teeny ski village, with a few hotels, two cafes that are not open for Sunday dinner (including the cafe in our hotel), and one gasthaus that is open for Sunday dinner. You guessed it: we were there on a Sunday. We had made reservations at the gasthaus a couple weeks earlier, because we know it can be hard to find food on Sunday in a small village.

When it was time to eat, we walked to the other end of the village, uphill through quiet streets lined with small hotels and homes, to the Hotel & Südtiroler Gasthaus Der Gassenwirt. The hotel was located on a site that had been a guesthouse since the beginning of the 17th century. The current family had bought it in 2016. The daughter, Johanna, was our server. She spoke excellent English, was in her second year at university in Innsbruck, majoring in hospitality and finance, and was home for the summer to work. Johanna was very sweet, and spent a lot of time talking to us (she said it was okay because it was a calm night). Ken and I each ordered one of the hotel's specialties, a plate with three types of dumplings, venison ragù, and cabbage salad. Our desserts were karamelisierte schmatren (kind of like a scrambled apple pancake with caramel sauce) and mascarpone ice cream with fruit. Johanna’s older brother is the chef. The food was outstanding. 

We walked home in the dark, alongside the cascading river. Life could be better, I suppose. But this was pretty darn nice.

From Cadipietra, we coasted down to Brunico and then turned right, skirting around a mountain range.

Those are the real Dolomiti in the background. Stunning.

Finally, after days of rain and clouds, we had views of the Dolomiti peaks.

2025 Italy, Day 46: Cadipietra

If you would like to see details about our journey, check out our itinerary and our bike route.

If you ever have a chance to cycle the EuroVelo 7 from Dobbiaco to Brunico, just do it. And if you also have a chance to cycle the AHR from Brunico to Cadipietra, just do it, too.

Both routes are on dedicated cycle paths along rivers, with jaw-dropping views of the Dolomiti rising on all sides. The surface switches from tar to gravel, and we ended up on a couple short stretches of mountain bike tracks and cow paths. We also had a detour up through cornfields; not sure why, but probably the main path was blocked by a landslide or washout because of all the rain. But overall, this was one of the best days of biking we have had. The forecasted rain did not materialize, the sun peeked through the clouds on and off, the air temp rose from a chilly 48 degrees at the beginning to 61 at the end. Yep, a bit different from two weeks ago. We started out with tights, fleece jackets, buffs, and mittens for the first time. 

The trail was busy with other bikers and hikers. Several stretches went around the edges of lakes, big parks, resorts, and villages with restaurants and shops. This is ski country, and the valley is lined with hotels, guesthouses, condos, and chalets. And gondolas. And ski and bike rental stores.

Our destination was a hotel in a village near the Austrian border. Nothing fancy, just a quiet old place that caters mostly to skiers and serves both dinner and breakfast. Our goal was to get out of the glitzy super-popular places, up into a valley where normal families hang out. And see some of the spectacular scenery. Such a difference a few miles make.

When we checked in, our host, Barbara, smiled kindly and said, "Oh, yes. I've been waiting for you," and then gave detailed directions for taking our bikes around the outside of the hotel, through the parking lot and into the garage, entering through the back door there, storing the bikes in the ski room near the sauna, and coming up a set of steps into the reception area. "You will figure it out," she said. She was right: we figured it out.

After showers and a little rest in our room, we also found our way to the dining room, where Barbara showed us to our table and served our dinner. I asked if she did everything in the hotel, and she said, with that little smile, "No. I don't cook." I loved her quiet sense of humor.

As soon as we started riding up the valley, we lost the crowds and the busy highways. We did still see people, and even large numbers of them in some of the resorts, but they were families and small groups out walking and picnicking, not big, loud crowds shopping and pushing.

A tiny park across from the cafe where we had cappuccini in the morning. We have fallen into a routine of stopping midmorning for bevande (beverages): cappuccino if it is cold out, aqua frizzante and limone if it is hot.

We rode around and through small villages off and on throughout the day.

Low clouds hid the high Dolomiti from us, but the rain held off.

Ken in his cold-weather cycling clothes.

Me in mine!

We saw goats.

And caribou.

And fields.

And mountains.

And villages.

And castles.

And ski chalets.

After dinner in our hotel, we took a little walk around the church next door. There wasn't much else to see. The village has fewer than 900 inhabitants, and just a handful of places to stay.

The rushing brook across the street from out hotel provided white noise...actually, the only noise in this quiet spot.

2025 Italy, Day 45: Dobbiaco

If you would like to see details about our journey, check out our itinerary and our bike route.

It stormed all night: 2.75 inches of rain. And it was 53 degrees when we got up. I dug down to the bottom of my pack and hauled out the tights for the first time. What a change!

We stalled a little getting ready to leave, and by the time we loaded the bikes, the sun was out. Three other people were also loading bikes in the entranceway: a couple from Albuquerque and their friend/guide from Austria. We saw them again several times on the trail during the morning and had fun comparing notes on great places to bike in Europe and the US. The husband was originally from Eden Prairie. Small world.

It was a little confusing getting out of Cortina because of all the construction going on there for the Olympics. When we finally made it to the bike trail, it was crowded with walkers and bikers.

The first 9 miles were a slow climb to Passo Cimabanche, at a little over 5,000 feet. Just before the pass, we stopped for a lunch of cheese and crackers. As we neared the pass, we agreed that it would be awesome if there were a cafe at the top, with cappuccino. And there it was! It was actually a full-fledged restaurant filled with bikers and hikers. If we had known, we would have waited to eat there. But we settled for cappuccino, and it was good.

The last 11 miles were a gradual descent, past quite a few parks and resorts busy with early weekend and holiday people.

Dobbiaco is a small town, barely more than a village, with a Sudtirol atmosphere. The agent who checked us in to our apartment was born there, and said she and maybe 90 percent of people in that area speak German as their first language. 

We have an entire new apartment to ourselves—total luxury. It was the only place we could find that would rent for just one night in Dobbiaco. There's a washer down the hall, and a new Conad supermarket below the building, with everything we needed for a simple dinner and breakfast. After dinner, we walked across the corner for Linzertorte and fruit tart and espresso. We wandered the few streets around the piazza and discovered a fantastic macelleria (butcher shop), where we got hard sausages for lunch tomorrow. The owner said we were the first Americans to come into his shop; he has seen a few in Dobbiaco, but not many, and they don’t come in to buy meat.

Most of the day we were riding on the Monaco-Venice/E1 bike path, popular for hiking and bikepacking.

Picnic lunch at about mile 8.

 We celebrated our summit of Passo Cimabanche with cappuccini.

Linzertorte in the square near our apartment in Dobbiaco brought back memories of sharing that dessert with Meghan and Josh in Vienna six years ago.

The old part of Dobbiaco is small, with just a few restaurants and shops circled around the main square.

The Chiesa San Giovanni Battista is an 18th-century Baroque church, built on the foundations of a Gothic church, built on the foundations of a Roman church. The terrace of our apartment was just a feet from the back of the tower.

The architecture of the church also reminded us of Austria. Dobbiaco is just miles from the Austrian border, and is known as much by its Austrian name (Toblach) as its Italian one (Dobbiaco). We get confused trying to speak the local language now; we hear German more than Italian, and both are a struggle for us!

Behind the church is this old building, and then streets of houses.

2025 Italy, Day 44: Cortina d'Ampezzio

If you would like to see details about our journey, check out our itinerary and our bike route.

Breakfast came with our room and included the usual buffet item--plus crepes, for a change. We were watching rain in the weather apps, and trying to time our ride to avoid thunderstorms. We had only 17 miles on a dedicated cycle path, but close to 2000 feet of climb, so we figured it would take about 3.5 hours to get to Cortina.

The ride was an easy, steady climb, continuing to follow an old railroad bed. (Standard trains can only climb about 2-3 percent, which is also a very comfortable climb for us. We can handle up to 5-6 percent with fully loaded bikes, but anything over that gets tough after a few hours.)

We stopped for coffee halfway, and stopped again to put raincoats on as the mist turned to drizzle and then to real rain. We rode through towns and villages with stone and timber houses, steel roofs, steep roads. Truly an alpine environment now; the tile roofs from southern Italy would not hold up here in the mountains.

When we arrived, Cortina was crowded and chaotic, with building projects everywhere for the 2026 Olympics. We found our hotel through a maze of construction on a new parking garage under the adjoining plaza, checked in behind a pair of backpackers seeking refuge from the rain, stored our bikes downstairs in the ski room, and settled in to our very nice twin room. It was only 13:00 when we got out of the shower, so we put our raincoats back on and walked 5 minutes to a restaurant where we ordered pastas and aqua frizzante. 

The rain was supposed to continue for a few hours, then ease up a bit, so we went back to the room to read, and fell asleep. Ken went out to explore town around 17:00. I was about to join him when he returned, dripping water; it was pouring again. We looked at Google and found a deli not too far away, walked over there and brought salads and chips and pretzels, and went back to eat in the room.

Cortina is much like Vail and Aspen, with narrow winding steers and lots of upscale stores and bars and restaurants. It might be fun to spend a few hours here, but we are glad to be moving on tomorrow.

Loading the bikes in Valle di Cadore in the morning, with raincoats handy (Ken's is the green coat bungeed to the back of his bike).

Countdown to the 2026 Olympics in Cortina. It is hard (impossible?) to believe that the town will have all of its construction projects completed before the crowds arrive next February.

Murky skies obscured the mountains around us.

2025 Italy, Day 43: Valle di Cadore

If you would like to see details about our journey, check out our itinerary and our bike route.

While scrolling Facebook after I woke up, I saw a video of the bike path we would be on today: a fantastic stretch around a powerplant near Soverzene. The video was posted by a local guide connected to a large bike shop in Belluno. The video got us excited about getting back on the bikes today. (But how did Facebook know to show me that? I must have a setting turned on allowing it to know my location, and it learned that I had searched for a bike store in Belluno? AI is a little scary.)

Today, we had to go about 33 miles and climb 3200 feet, and rain was predicted in the afternoon, so we got ourselves down to breakfast early, paid our bill, and said good-bye to Stephanie and her parents. As we were leaving, Luisa ran after us with her copy of our receipt, saying something in Italian that I could not understand. She pointed to the total of 322 euros at the bottom of the receipt and said, "No, due cento settanta due euro" ("No, 272 euros"). That was the price for our apartment for the three nights. I said, "But we had dinner too." That was another 50 euros. "Allora, si, si," said Luisa, smiling and patting the receipt. We wished each other a good trip and a good day, and waved good-bye. Bear in mind that this conversation took place completely in Italian on her part and English on my part. It is amazing how much you can communicate without understanding a single word. Sometimes.

(BTW, Luisa was awesome. She and Giovani were probably about our age, and Luisa seemed to be everywhere doing everything all the time. She drove up with supplies and groceries, did all the cooking, handled all the booking, and as far as we could tell also did all the cleaning. Whenever we had a question, Giovani just said, "Wait until Luisa gets back.")

As soon as we had coasted down the hill to Belluno, we turned off the road and onto a dedicated bike path, following the Monaco-Venice bike route. Bonus fun: most of the steep stretches that showed up on our RWGPS map (colored red to maroon on our Wahoo elevation graphs) turned out to be false readings from walls of rock and wire lining the path. So the ride was not as tough as we feared.

In Soverzene, we found the stretch of trail from the Facebook video, and Ken made his own video as we rode through it. Not long afterward, we turned onto a small road along the edge of the mountain, heading up to one of the actually steep climbs of the day. As we swooped around a corner where several men were cutting grass, they started yelling and waving their arms. We couldn’t understand what they were saying. At the next house, a woman hanging up laundry also started yelling and running after us, crossing her arms and pointing up the road and saying “No, no.”

Okay. We stopped in front of the woman. I pointed up the road, and she shook her head and said a whole bunch of words I couldn’t understand, but we figured out that these people were warning us not to keep going up the mountain. 

It was a little confusing because there was no Road Closed sign or barrier of any kind. Although we have learned to ignore Road Closed signs and barriers for the most part. Most of the time, when roads are blocked off to cars, we are able to get through on bikes, and detours that work for cars can be a real problem on bikes—they can easily add 30-40 or more miles, and in some cases put us on an autostrada (freeway), for example. Especially in the mountains, there are generally not realistic detours for people on two wheels. 

In this case, we seemed to have people telling us it was urgent that we find a different route. 

We looked at our maps and worked out another way around, but it wasn’t easy. We had to go back a mile or so, cross the river, cycle several miles through an industrial complex, get under an autostrada, through a park, and up over a pass, and we would finally be able to rejoin our original route. 

Halfway through the detour, we looked across the river and saw what those people were yelling about: a huge landslide had taken out a big chunk of the road. We were pretty lucky to have the option of a nearby bridge across the river and a ridable road on the other side. And to have people who took the time to try to tell us what was going on.

The rest of the ride was pretty tame. We arrived at our hotel a little early. The desk clerk was a nice guy from Athens who spoke fluent English and had a twinkle in his eye and a good sense of humor. We stowed our bikes in a room next to the hotel’s restaurant, accepted free bottles of water, and rode the elevator up to our luxury double room.

Seriously, a luxury room and an elevator. How lucky can two gritty bikers be?

When we planned this stretch of our trip, we discovered that accommodations in the Dolomiti are ridiculously expensive, and it was hard to find properties that would book just one night (most had a three-night minimum). I really wanted to see the Dolomiti. Ken had biked in the area with Joshua and my brother, Ross, about 20 years ago, and he didn’t mind returning. So we cringed and splurged and went for a week of blowing the budget.

We were hungry and tired, and it was drizzling and cold, so we considered just having dinner in the hotel restaurant, but the clerk had said it served only pizza, and we weren’t feeling like pizza. We turned to Google. The only food in town was pizza. But just a block away was a pizza restaurant that had impressive reviews and opened at 18:30. We went for it. 

What a treat. A family-owned place with no more than 10 tables carefully laid with white tablecloths and lace napkins. An older gentleman, about our age, outfitted in a crisp white chef's hat, shirt, and pants, stood behind a small counter making pizzas in a superhot wood oven, running meats and vegetables and cheeses through a shiny slicer that he cleaned meticulously after each item, and rolling out homemade dough. His wife, in a black skirt and white blouse, seated guests and took orders. Their son, in his 40s or 50s, greeted guests as they came in the door, delivered food and beverages, and juggled the bar and cash point. The menu consisted of about 10 types of pizza, all the same size and crust. The pizza ingredients came from the family farm in Verona and local suppliers. The wine was made by the family on their farm. A dessert cart offered three kinds of homemade cakes plus tiramisu.

While we ate, the restaurant filled with small groups of what appeared to be well-known friends, all greeted warmly by the hostess and host. It felt like an honor to spend the evening with this family--and the pizza, wine, and desserts were delicious!

Collecting our bikes from the rifugio in the morning.

The front of the old farmhouse, where Luisa and Giovani live.

Heading into the Dolomiti after leaving the agriturismo and Belluno.

As we pedaled through the industrial park on our detour, we looked up and saw a huge landslide and missing piece of road on the side of the mountain we were supposed to be riding. So that's what all the shouting and pointing were about. There have been unusually heavy rains in the area lately, and we have seen many warnings about landslides and washouts.

About halfway to Valle di Cadore, we had a picnic lunch in Ospitale di Cadore. Cadore is a region in Italy. Ospitale di Cadore is a commune (municipality) with a 16th-century hospice, ruins of an ancient metallurgical village dating to 1000 AD (Paluc), remains of a fort, and parts of the old Roman road.

Once we reached Valle Di Cadore, our home for the night, we could look back down the valley we had spent the day riding up.

A waterfall on the mountainside.

Climbing the mountain through Soverzene.

2025 Italy, Day 42: Belluno, Night 3 of 3

If you would like to see details about our journey, check out our itinerary and our bike route.

We woke up a little earlier today, after all that rest yesterday. Our host served another good breakfast with juice, croissants, bread, eggs, cheese, and coffee. Then we moved into rest mode again. 

Actually, this was also a bit of a chore day. I worked on banking, the itinerary, the blog, and communication with friends and relatives. Ken did bike maintenance. We took a little walk around the property. Ken rode up to a village about 6 miles away and had a cappuccino.

Dinner was at the agriturismo, homemade by Luisa from local products. Our dinner companions were a family from Bulgaria, here to do some paragliding. The dad spoke fluent English; he works in software engineering and is passionate about paragliding. Said the Dolomiti have perfect thermals and are a favorite place to glide. The mom works as a legal professional, spoke less English. The 10-year-old, Stephanie, asked permission to speak with us and introduced herself and her parents in perfect English. We asked about biking in Bulgaria, and they cautioned that there is a lot of theft and the roads are not in great shape--but said it is a beautiful country.

We weren't sure about this place when we arrived; it seemed a little rustic and rundown, and we wondered if we would be comfortable for three whole days here. Yes, we were more than comfortable. The quiet of the farm and the kindness of the people grew on us

The outside dining terrace at our agriturismo.

The staircase to guestrooms above the kitchen and dining room.

A covered porch, with steps leading down to the rifugio in the foreground.

An old stable block has been turned into guestrooms and apartments. The stairs in the foreground lead to our apartment on the first floor (what we Americans would call the second floor).

The family chapel.

View of Bolzano from the farm across the road.

View of the mountains from a gravel farm track along the edge of the agriturismo.

The stable block was built to last.

Our host had assigned guests to tables for their stay. We were given one end of a long table on the covered porch. This little table in front of the kitchen was used by the host and her family.